


Half In Love

by blue_wonderer, wonderingtheblue (blue_wonderer)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Ambiguous/Open Ending, I Tried, Lots of kissing, M/M, Mobster!Len, Singer!Barry Allen, Sort Of, like a lot, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/wonderingtheblue
Summary: The police and a long-term rival are both closing in around Len and his criminal organization. Still, he can't help but see Barry one last time.





	Half In Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nixie_DeAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/gifts).



> For the prompt: _"You make me want things I can't have"_

Len hears Barry’s voice before he even steps into Joe’s Club, echoing and muffled by the brick walls of the dim passage that led from Joe’s legitimate storefront to the less-than-legitimate speakeasy. Still, the sound ebbs into his bones, makes them feel as hollow and light as a bird’s. He feels his shoulders relax. And that’s a weakness, he knows. He shouldn’t even be here, fresh from a clash with Scudder’s outfit, and more and more near-misses with Central’s finest now that it’s new face, the tenacious and obnoxiously heroic David Singh, wouldn’t be bought off like his predecessors. It was stupid to show his face at Joe’s, a well-known haunt of the notorious gangster Cold, he would be the first one to say.

Barry would be the second. 

Mick walks behind him, a solid wall at his shoulder. He hums softly, an idle half-tune, indicating how happy he is with rising tension. Mick had only laughed at him when Len said he wanted to go to Joe’s. _“Didn’t Red give ya the icy mitt, Boss?”_ But that hadn’t been a protest, just fun at his partner’s expense. After all, Len showing his face at Joe’s was practically inviting a showdown with either Scudder or the fuzz and Mick never much minded a good fight. 

He enters into Joe’s, which is almost as dark as the passageway he just came from except for the bar lights and the oil lamps burning low on the tables. Barry’s voice is louder now, permeating every corner until the club seems so buoyant with it that Len feels as if he's floating instead of walking. 

He doesn’t look for Barry right away. It’s been weeks since he’s been to Joe's—weeks since their last stolen kiss, and weeks before that their… relationship had been perforated by heavy expectations, guilt, and a healthy dose of obstinacy. So, he doesn’t look, not right away, not when his hollow bones resonate with Barry’s song. He supposes it’s delayed gratification, or a challenge to himself. 

He supposes that his presence here is evidence enough that he’s already lost. 

Len places his hat on the bar top and asks for whiskey, feeling rather than seeing Mick sidle up next to him. He brings the whiskey to his lips as he turns and leans against the bar, his gaze sweeping the crowd and dark corners of the club before finally moving to the stage. 

To conserve on the already limited space the small stage was crammed amidst the tables, creating an illusion of intimacy between the spectators and performers. Barry sways gently with the music, hand loosely curled around the microphone stand, his cuff link glimmering as he moves. In his tuxedo jacket and stark white shirt and waistcoat, Barry looks like he wandered straight out of the silver screen and into Joe’s Club. The spotlight casts an unreal play of shadows on Barry’s face, making him appear as unreachable as his voice. The lighting blends his accompaniment into the dimness behind him, but Len knows that it’s Ramon on the piano, rounding out the number. Later there will be a bigger band with Barry, a raucous frenzy of jazz and dancing flappers and flowing liquor. Already more patrons are trickling in. Len would be long gone before all of that.

As he takes in the sight of Barry for the first time in weeks, as he commits the scene to memory because it could be the last time he sees his lover, Len wonders if he’s supposed to regret dragging Barry into everything. He can’t bring himself to. As the star of Joe’s Club, everyone talked to Barry. Rivals, businessmen, the police, the wait staff, and other entertainers. He performed at other clubs throughout Central and in neighboring cities, meeting even more people. So, when Len absorbed Joe’s in his bootlegging operation, he immediately identified Barry as a wealth of needful intelligence. Barry didn’t even have to actively seek out the relevant information, he just had to _be_. And all Len had to do was flirt a little with the cute singer, ask the right questions, and Barry would unthinkingly give him all he needed. 

Of course, when Barry found out who Len was, what he sometimes used Barry’s information for, it wasn’t like the younger man was outright opposed. Barry’s friends and family all worked with or benefited from Len and his Rogues. And it wasn’t like there was no love lost between Barry and the police, not after the law wrongfully imprisoned his father.

The song wanders toward a close and somewhere in between _“In my heart it will remain”_ and _“My stardust melody”_ , Barry’s eyes find his. It should be impossible with the stage lighting and the crowd. Besides, Barry shouldn’t have known Len would be here— _Len_ didn’t know he’d be here until he made the snap decision just an hour ago. But Barry finds him anyway, as he has done a dozen times before. Barry holds his gaze and when he sings _“The memory of love’s refrain”_ , something falters in Barry's expression and it’s not that Len can’t read the emotions so much as there are too many all at once to keep track of and untangle. And then Barry hides it away, sweeping his attention over the crowd with a crooked smile as he cradles the mic closer to him like it might be the lover in his song. His stage persona was always somehow better at acting than the man himself. 

On the last note, Barry’s eyes meet his again. He raises an eyebrow. Len smirks and raises his glass.

-

They’re kissing before the closet door safely closes. Barry lets out an _oomph_ when Len shoves him against the wall. Len fumbles blindly for the buttons of Barry’s jacket, tucks his hands under the hem of his waistcoat, fingertips rasping against the silk of Barry’s shirt. 

“Len,” Barry says and it sounds more like a curse than an exultation but Barry pulls him, kissing him roughly, causing Len’s hat to tip off and fall into the dark abyss of the closet. He leans into the long line of Barry’s body, still hot from his performance and the stage lighting and Len soaks it in like he’s never been warm in his life (like he'll never be warm again). They come up for air, panting against each other’s lips. Len’s hands rise from Barry’s shoulder to grip his face, to lightly scrape his fingernails against Barry’s scalp in a way that makes him shudder and gasp. Len feels Barry stiffen beneath him and wonders if this is the moment Barry comes back to himself, the moment he inevitably decides to fight Len—to warn Len off with a, _“I told you we aren’t doing this again._ I’m _not doing this again”_. 

Barry just blows out a strained laugh and Len wishes he could see him, wishes they were anywhere but this closet so he could see the color of his eyes and trace patterns between his freckles. He needs to see Barry healthy and whole, unharmed by any of the past few weeks’ unpleasantries. Len had heard the reports, knew that both Scudder and the police were circling Joe’s like vultures. 

“Len,” Barry repeats, this time sort of under his breath and to himself like he can't quite believe Len is in his arms and Len can not possibly measure the tremble in Barry's hushed voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.“ 

And then Barry kisses him again, slides his hands down Len’s sides, grips his waist and tugs him forward until his thigh is between Barry’s. Only then does Barry wrap his arms around Len’s neck and shoulders and the pace of the kiss turns to something slower but no less consuming. 

“You can’t be here,” Barry reprimands when they part again. “You raging _idiot_ , you can’t be here.” 

“I’m aware,” Len says dryly into Barry’s skin. Barry shudders again and Len knows, despite the dark, that he’s biting his lip even as he tilts his head back and gives Len’s lips unmitigated access to the long column of his throat. 

Barry’s fingers grip into the back of his neck hard enough to leave bruises as Len sucks on his skin. Necking in the club, leaving behind marks… they’d never been so careless before. 

“Singh was here just last week, Len,” Barry continues doggedly. “You know he has men on the building still, waiting to pinch you. And I can’t believe I’m saying this but he’s good, Len. A good man. I’d almost root for him if you—if I wouldn’t be taken down too when he blows everything open.” 

Deciding that Barry is too prolific for them to have been apart for so long and that it was unfair that Len was almost too far gone for words and not Barry (my how the tables can turn), Len licks up the shell of Barry’s ear just as he moves his thigh against Barry in a slow rhythm. 

“You won’t go down with this, Barry,” Len whispers into his ear. “I won’t lose, but even if I do, you won’t. I told you.” 

Barry scoffs disbelievingly but dives in for another kiss. “And Scudder, the damn nuisance has been sniffing ‘round here more and more. Shawna—she works at one of his clubs—Shawna told me that Scudder thinks something important is here, something about your operation.” 

Len’s hands drop to rest on Barry’s hips, cheek against Barry’s cheek, the movement of their bodies stilling as he thinks. Barry is one of Len's best informers, but he isn't the only one, so Len knows all about Scudder coming in and looking for Len last week. He knows that he gave Ramon a black eye, pushed Caitlin around, and called Barry a quiff among other unsavory things. But Len didn't know that Scudder had singled Joe's out. Joe’s is important to Len’s operation, sure. It’s one of the most popular speakeasies in the city, and therefore the most lucrative. It’s a stop on one of the smuggle routes. Plus, Len has fostered countless negotiations and deals here. Joe’s draws in the rich and the powerful, businessmen and criminals alike. It’s a money and information source that Len needs now more than ever. 

And Barry is here. 

“He’s drawing even more attention on me,” Len sighs. 

“And how,” Barry sighs, arms tightening around him. He tilts his head, brushes his lips against Len’s temple.

“Barry,” Len starts softly but hesitates, all the words he wants to say crashing against his clenched jaw. Barry places another kiss against his brow, caresses his skin with his fingers. It’s profoundly tender, an intimacy Len didn’t know he wanted before he met Barry. 

“It hasn’t changed,” Barry says, wistfully. “About… before. My mind hasn’t changed.” He still doesn’t think he and Len can keep doing what they’re doing. The bootlegging and gambling and money laundering was all fine if he got to snub the police, but Barry was still drawing the line at hurting people, even if those people were Scudder’s goons. And Barry wanted more. Wanted to help people like his dad. Maybe even keep on singing. He couldn't do those things inside of a jail cell. 

Still, Barry doesn’t let go of him. 

Len shifts in Barry’s arms, breathes in the smell of soap and sweat and clothes. “I swear, Barry,” he says and swallows thickly, the plea tasting less bitter than he expected. “I swear you’ll be protected. Your name will be protected. You can go into legitimate work. Be a gumshoe like you talked about. Whatever you decide on.”

“Maybe before, but Singh knows this place now. Knows my face.” 

“Don’t mean nothin’ if he can’t prove a thing against you and me,” Len says, kissing the corner of Barry’s mouth. “Keep singin’, then.” 

“What?” Barry chuckles. “For you?” 

“That on the table?”

Len’s eyes have adjusted somewhat to the dark with the modicum of light seeping between the cracks in the door. Only able to see the barest impression of Barry’s face, Len reaches out, tracing those features and hiding a smile in the dark when Barry so easily leans into the touch. 

“Len,” Barry murmurs. “Len, I think the FBI is in your organization.” 

“What?” He says sharply. “Who? Where?” 

“Don’t know who, Len,” Barry says, voice weary. And it’s a testament to how much Barry missed him, or was worried about him, or both, because the _“and I wouldn’t tell you, he’s doing his job, he’s doing the right thing”_ with the _“unlike me, unlike us_ ” staying unspoken but no less pointed. But he doesn’t say those things. Maybe because he knows Len can hear it anyway. Maybe because he doesn’t want to start a fight. 

There were times when Len would revel in their fights, even when it drove him mad. Times when he would be thrilled by the challenge Barry presented, how unmoving he was, how utterly fearless despite all that Len was, all that he could rain down on Barry. Now just holding Barry again is a thrill on its own. 

“What’s your source? Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be without going to look myself. Trust me.” 

Len really shouldn’t, but he thought that if there was anyone he could trust besides Lisa and Mick, it’d probably be Barry. 

“You have to go,” Barry says. “Singh’s men are watching. You can’t go out the way you came. Iris should be on her way to get you and Mick out through the cellar.” 

Silence stretches between them. Len can hear the crowd get louder and louder. Horns start to play. 

“Thought you weren’t going to come back,” Barry finally says, muffling the words into his shoulder. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to come back.” 

Barry presses his mouth against his, not to kiss, but so Len can feel his small smile. “That’s not what I meant. Or said. You have to go now.” He pushes a little against Len’s shoulders, but it’s weak at best.

Len runs his hands through Barry’s hair. They are so close that Len thinks Barry’s heart might be beating in his own chest. He kisses Barry again, one last time, long and slow. They part and Barry rests his forehead against Len’s. 

“You make me want things I can’t have,” Len murmurs. He thumbs Barry’s cheek, wonders if the hint of moisture he feels there is sweat or tears. 

Barry exhales. This time when he pushes against Len it’s stronger and Len concedes, taking a step back and giving Barry space. A shadow flickers on the other side of the door. Someone is standing outside it. Len hears the rumble of Mick’s voice. 

“It’s not because you can’t,” Barry whispers. He trails his hands down Len’s arms, briefly lacing their fingers together. “You’ve made your choice and I’ve made mine.” He kisses Len’s knuckles, brief and warm, and lets him go. “Be careful, Len.” 

The door opens and light spills in like a reverie. Len catches a glimpse of Iris West standing with Mick, her glittering dress and tightly curled bob ready for the stage later tonight. He sees Barry’s form sliding between them before the door closes again and he’s left in the dark. 

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> “Angry, and **half in love** with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.”  
>  \- _The Great Gatsby_
> 
> @wonderingtheblue on tumblr :) come say hi if you wanna


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